


out of the woods.

by AlwaysInSonder



Series: Holmesbury [2]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Tewky is Enola's Watson, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysInSonder/pseuds/AlwaysInSonder
Summary: This is not the first time they have disguised as a couple. It is not the first time Tewkesbury has proudly referred to her as his "wife". So why was is it then, that this time feels different?
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Series: Holmesbury [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962532
Comments: 51
Kudos: 608





	out of the woods.

"Well don't the both of you just _glow_!" 

The forced grin on Enola's face begins to waver. This has to be the longest dinner she's had in her lifetime. 

"You are very kind," Tewkesbury answers their host with a charming, effortless smile. Enola does not know how he does it. It comes so easily, it makes her wonder if any of the smiles he gives her - ones that make her knees impossibly weak - were as forced as hers. "Most people would find newly-weds nauseating. My wife and I are so grateful."

He turns to her and gives her a wink, and Enola flushes almost on cue. He's enjoying this a little too much. Their charade has gone on far too long and she suspects - with great dread in her belly - that her co-detective has lost himself to his character.

This of course, delights their host - Mrs Richmond - who presses a hand to her chest as if to still a fluttering heart.

"Oh, how sweet! My Albert and I were the same when we were just married. Weren't we Albert?" 

A non-committal grunt is given as a response next to her. Enola turns her attention to her soup, wishing for the steak they had served her "husband". Mrs Richmond had wrongly assumed she wanted to maintain her figure for said "husband". 

It _infuriates_ Enola to no end. She has a voracious appetite and they were meant to feast in the inn they had originally planned to stay in.

She isn't sure how much longer she can keep up with the act. The corset pinches, her scalp throbs with the numerous pins placed to tame her hair and the cheap ring on her finger itches against her skin. 

It's not the first time they've disguised themselves as a honeymooning couple; people typically know to leave them alone and did little to arouse suspicion.

Well, most people except Mrs Richmond.

It is clear Mrs Richmond lacks any form of entertainment in the remote area of the countryside they were in. Enola had never met a woman more invested in her non-existent marriage.

Her stomach growls and she hides it with a fit of coughs. Tewkesbury, ever the doting "husband", coaxes some water into her and pats her back. Mrs Richmond coos at their performance.

When the Richmonds are sufficiently distracted - and with Mr. Richmond, it is _always_ \- Tewkesbury discretely slips generous cuttings of his own steak to her plate. 

It helps satiate her hunger, and she throws grateful glances his way, but she's _exhausted_. Each inquiry after their wedding ceremony by Mrs Richmond is answered quickly by Tewkesbury. It surprises her the level of detail he manages to give.

Apparently they had eloped months ahead, and as a sort of olive branch to their devastated mothers, they had a simple wedding in the gardens of her childhood home.

A voice in the back of her mind tells her what a lovely idea it is, and she quietens it with a long sip of her wine. 

When dessert is served, she stares glumly at the pathetic, but ladylike sliver of cake given to her. At least, it means that the end of the dinner is near. Enola takes comfort in the small victory while skimming a bit of cream onto her spoon.

She glances over to Tewkesbury, who had miraculously and skillfully coaxed some conversation out of Mr Richmond. The portly man looks more awake than before, entranced by the charm she knows can melt entire glaciers. The biggest glacier she knew - Mycroft - had begrudging respect for him.

The two were discussing politics and the current state of affairs in Parliament. She bites her lip, resisting the urge to join in. Ladies didn't discuss politics. Instead, she pretends to listen to Mrs Richmond's recount of her own wedding day, and how she had needed to down an entire pint of mulled wine before she could bring herself to walk down the aisle.

Enola wonders how much more awake Mr Richmond will be if he knows he is speaking to a Marquess, and not at all humble, non-aristocratic Mr Posy. A botanist.

The front wheel of the carriage they rented to bring them to a case out of town just _had to_ break in front of the Richmonds' cottage. Enola sighs, picking at her meagre serving of cake, playing the part of a fussy young wife. 

She does not want to come off ungrateful. It truly is gracious of the Richmonds to take them in; promising to call on a repairman to replace the broken wheel in the morning. Their offer to stay the night is also practically thrown at them; especially when Mrs Richmond discovers they are "newly-weds". 

Enola thanks Tewkesbury's foresight in getting decoy wedding rings just in case.

"Terribly sorry, Mrs Richmond, my wife and I must retire. Our travels this morning-"

"Oh say no more lad! I've been a young buck before," Mr Richmond laughs heartily. Enola already misses his stoic silence. "Go on now, warm your beds with each other!"

Both Richmonds now explode in laughter and Enola feels the tips of her ear burn. She mumbles meaningless pleasantries and a goodnight before she hastily rises, Tewkesbury quickly following suit. His hand rests comfortingly - convincingly - on the small of her back as he leads her out of the dining room. 

It does not take long for them to find their guestroom. The cottage is small, and their room is only two doors down from the Richmonds'. Enola desperately hopes Mrs Richmond isn't one to strain her ears.

Once the door to their shared bedroom closes behind them, Enola groans into her hands. Tewkesbury chuckles lightly unbuttoning his coat as he watches her, seating himself on the singular bed.

There's a single candle lit on the bedside and the fireplace left unlit; on purpose, no doubt. A chill travels down her spine as she moves to close the windows bringing in the frigid night air.

"I _knew_ we should have gone with siblings," she sighs, heading to her suitcase to rummage around for a nightgown. "This must be our longest streak yet. What, four days?"

Mycroft is certain to have a fit if he finds out they had been sharing a carriage and sleeping in the same room, but his rage will be several years too late. The initial embarrassment has long dissipated as they fell into step with each other over the years. It is simply practical, economical and unsuspecting.

Tewkesbury is quiet, but she knows he's listening. His head is tilted towards her and she can always feel his gaze on her. 

"Are you just going to sit there?"

A dark brow rises, and Tewkesbury collapses back against the bed. It's a double, but it's still far too small for two people. "I'm getting quite weary of sleeping on floors. I'm twenty-two but my back feels like I'm fifty-five." 

"Take the bed then," she replies hotly, darting behind a dresser and crouching to undress. It is not that she does not trust him to look away. She feels far too exposed, too _claustrophobic_ , whenever she's forced to share a room with him. She's only grateful their journeys take them far out of London, where no one can reliably recognise them. "I don't mind the floor."

He's silent again as she undresses, the quiet air between them filled with her soft grunts as she strains to unlace herself from her corset.

"Need a hand?" Tewkesbury asks mildly and her cheeks warm. 

"Absolutely not," she scoffs, determinedly tugging the laces out. It will certainly be expedited with an extra set of hands and she _is_ typically one for practicality, but her senses are telling her it is unwise.

"Husbands help with corsets, you know," she can just _hear_ the smirk on his face as he says it. "When there are no maids around."

"Well, it's a good thing you aren't mine," she hisses under breath. She decides to give it a few more desperate tugs before she seriously considers his offer, and sure enough, she manages to get it sufficiently loose to unhook the front of it. She steps out of it triumphantly, throwing it over her discarded day dress. She desperately needs to think of easier disguises. 

Dressing as a boy isn't sustainable and with an actual man next to her for the most part, she sticks out like a sore thumb considerably with her voice. Disguising as a couple is simply easier. No one ever seems to question if they are truly together.

"The offer still stands," he says plainly, clearly accustomed to her stubbornness.

"I've got it," she sniffs, quickly pulling on the nightgown. She emerges from behind the dresser, shaking her hair out from it's tight bun. She sits in front of the dresser, slowly brushing out the kinks in her hair. 

Tewkesbury pulls himself up then, his tie loosened and his vest dangling on the edge of the bed. He comes up behind her, resting his hands on the back of her chair as she brushes her hair. 

From the mirror, she can see he's staring at her hair. He lifts a hand, closing it around hers and stopping her brushes. He gently pries the brush away from her grasp and before she could refuse, he's carefully brushing it himself.

He's a lot gentler with her scalp than she is, and his fingers carefully eases out knots with greater patience. He's still deathly quiet - pensive - and it unnerves her.

It's not the first time he's brushed her hair. He's braided it with flowers - jasmines, rosebuds and camellias from his estate - and made her crowns of daisy on their lazy days together, laid out on the meadow, watching the clouds.

There is a different aura about him that Enola can't quite place; she has a clue offered by her intuition but she refuses to acknowledge it. She is usually well attuned to his moods and his temperament is nearly always sunnier than hers in any given day. She isn't entirely sure what to make of him that night. Perhaps the sleeps on the floor really did take their toll. 

"I really meant it, you can have the bed-"

"Is it really that dreadful, to imagine yourself married to me?" 


End file.
